Brontides
by Mon-cheri
Summary: I could feel the humidity make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and the smell of rain was evident. It was going to storm. A rumbling thunder came from the distant and it made me think that whoever was up there-if there was an "up there"-was bowling, and sounds like those were my favorite. The kinds that made one wonder, 'could there be' I smiled, "brontide, Paul." Paul/OC
1. Prologue

Falling was the easy part. I felt like I was flying—wait, I was flying. I was a bird, finally, and it felt euphoric. My hair wasn't in my face, the wind was brushing it straight behind me and my body felt so free. I was tempted to flap my arms around and try to fly. It was an indescribable feeling of freedom no one ever knew, until me. Knowing at any moment I could crash to the water gave me a rush of adrenaline, but opening my eyes, I noticed how close it was coming—it came sooner than wanted. My face landed in the rough ice water before my body. As if falling on my glass plate, shards cut my skin. But unlike the warmth of blood falling down my face it was the Antarctic waters forcing me to become a popsicle. I wanted to smile but I didn't have control of my body anymore, I was frozen. I blinked. The burn of the salt water went away and I was just sinking, like someone was pulling me down to the sea floor. There was tightness in my chest—a pop, even. And I realized there was no more air to hold in, and it began to burn. A wildfire spreading in my chest. It _hurt. _Ten times worse than dying—or I supposed what would be dying. I questioned myself. Did I want to die? All the people I loved would be devastated, they may not be able to live with themselves anymore, thinking it was their fault—but it wouldn't be. I didn't even plan this. I knew by moving I would make the pain worse, oxygen would leave my body quicker and quicker until nothing was left. I blinked again. Even under the water it was rough. My body swayed rapidly back and forth, but the deeper I got the calmer it seemed to get. A white swirl of air floated around me and then popped. I was now getting used to the pain in my chest, and slowly it started to disappear, and my mind began to think less and less, drifting off to nothing; my senses had fully left. I was just feeling my life slip away. In a sick, twisted way, I was excited.

Something pulled me up; I could see the rock and sand floor beneath me get farther and farther away. I felt warmth from the arm thaw my frostbite feeling around my body and I craved more. We broke water and my body was heaved up into the air. The wind threw itself at my body and the water felt like it was turning to ice. As soon as I got out of the water, my body instinctively craved the oxygen and took it for granted. Gasping and gasping, I didn't let the oxygen out until I threw up my breakfast and my sight disappeared—as if someone had flipped the suns light off and the world had shut off. I couldn't see anything, and slowly my mind was fainting, by I felt my body hit the rocky shore hard, and I somehow knew I would be safe, for now.

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**Note: **Hello, everyone! I'm back and taking a try at writing again! I apologize, but I deleted my old stories. I mean, they were pretty bad. Or very bad, like... _bad._

(Sorry for the short prologue, I'm not one for long ones.) So, for this story, I will be taking on a new league. Instead of one of those dramatic, "my family life sucks" "this fan fic will be all about drama and girl (or boy) obsession with imprint omg yada yada" I am going to try and focus on somewhat of a 'becoming of age' imprint story. So, you all better expect anticlimactic parts, fluffy parts, some smut (yes, smut) and a very big twist at the end (as per moi, or at least I hope a twist. I have to alternative endings playing around in my head). Anyway, reviews are helpful-they encourage me-and critics please, review, I need some tips and people to tell me it's bad-I live on it.

If any of you wanted to the know the end of what Burned by Two was going to be like, you are more than welcome to message me privately and I will tell you. It'd a kicker.

(I will be taking this story slow, I have a lot going on currently and I want this to be perfect.)


	2. Chapter one

**Welcome home, son - **Chapter one.**   
**

The drive wasn't long, and I couldn't tell you if it was quiet or not, because in my ears it was as loud as loud could get. My mother always hated when I would play my music loud through my ear buds—she would always call me a hypocrite from when I was little and would yell at her to turn down the volume of her 80's and 90's rock music—which is what consists of half of my playlist, now. My head rested against the cold window as rain sprinkled down the glass—after an hour of driving from the airport from a ten hour flight crammed between my mother and sister and with a brother behind us snoring like Jabba the Hut—I was exhausted and never could really fall asleep in moving things, so I let my mind relax to the classic rock bursting my ear drum. My eyes blinked slowly a couple of times, staying mostly closed, and I smashed myself closer to the door to make room for the others in the taxi. It wasn't a surprise when my mother had told me we were moving—we always moved when someone died or someone gets transferred or stationed at some other military base. My life was on four wheels constantly.

One hour we had been in a car, I was counting, and we had reached the little nook my mother called a house. I thought she had bought on impulse, but after "the talk" I realized it was a family house—on my father's side. I shouldn't call it a shack, in fact it was bigger than our previous house we were in; it was improvement. Two stories high, no basement to work out in, three bedrooms, three bathrooms, a living room, dining room, and kitchen; it was more than I could have asked for. White painted house—chipping away, of course—and red shudders, I would come to love this house it killed me. I had to, it was protocol in the Hart family, "love it, and if you don't, learn to until it kills you," I could hear my father's voice boom through my ears at the thought. Out of all the family protocols, I hated that one the most.

When the taxi cab stopped I opened the door and stood in mud, rain droplets made imprints on the ground and I could tell this was the best weather LaPush had gotten in months. "Mom, I've got it," I broke the music playing in my ears and shouted over at the strained, red haired woman who had started to walk over to the front door of the house without caring who was paying the driver. I watched her for a moment and let my siblings follow her lead. She bent over and picked up a wet key from under the foot mat and disappeared inside. I wondered how she was handling things, I knew how much she kept her emotions under lock and key, only to be seen by the night and its creatures—she was our pack leader and couldn't let us think she was falling to pieces.

I opened pulled out my wallet from my bag and looked at the monitor. "Are you serious?" I questioned, furrowing my eyebrows and looked at the man who had drove us an hour and ten minutes from the airport to our new _home_.

"What did you expect? Hand it over," he pulled a lever from under his wheel and popped the trunk open, "and get your shit out." I have always had a tolerance for cold hearted and temperamental people, especially cab drivers, and I knew that nothing I said or did could fix his _'tude_.

It didn't stop me from handing him the money and calling him an asshole. I trudged my way through the mud and to the trunk of the car to grab the suitcases full of half our lives. I took out each bag—four in count—and slammed the trunk shut, patted it loudly to inform the diver it was clear, and watched him speed away. "Dick," I muttered and stood there and looked around my new home, or, rather, my grandparents' home. We were going to be surrounded by forest and an empty road, "what a sight," I mumbled under my breath. It wasn't that the house was ugly, or that the forest couldn't be something to look at, but it was the lack of movement and the seclusion from civilization that set me off. I was used to honking horns, gun shots, and people screaming in Spanish. Maybe it would be good for me, maybe the silence will make me less stressed and less agitated—it'd be healthy for me; I wouldn't have such bad anxiety. I knew it would be better for my mother.

I stood there for a while longer until my sister came out to help me bring the bags in. Her scarf and hair were bouncing with her steps ever so perfectly, and I felt the green monster rise in my chest. Juliette lived up to her reputation of royal beauty; she was the mixture of my mother and fathers' traits. Sandy blonde hair that curled in ringlets at the tips, soft, perfect lips, natural glowing skin, and blue eyes full of warmth. Even with her eyes, Julie was as tough as nails when it came to fighting and justice, just as our father, mother, grandfather, and as far as the beginning all of the Harts were tough. In our own ways, each of us would never fall. I scoffed thinking about that, and earned a strange look from my sister who opened the door for me—the rain was becoming harder. I could hear the pitter patter of the rain on the roof—which scared me a little—but inside the house my fears of it being total shit evaporated.

There were little things that needed some improvement, like the floral wallpaper which was beginning to peel and some of the floor boards creaked when you stepped on them. The furniture would need an update, but my mom wouldn't mind working on that. She liked doing those types of things, fixing things and redecorating, ever since she quit her job to be a stay at home mom when Alex was four. I dropped the bags by the front door and walked around the base of the house. It smelled of old books and dust, I don't know how my Gran and Pa lived in it. My little heels clicked against the wooden floor boards and my nails made a scratching noise along the walls. There was only a bathroom down the hall next to the living room, which I thought would come in handy for movie night, and behind the stairs was an open space that led into the dining room, which led into the kitchen. Cool, so the whole bottom level was based on a circle; that was comforting. Making my way through the dining room, I entered my safe haven—the kitchen. I smiled, it was perfect. The space, the storage, I could do major baking in this room.

"Isn't it perfect?" My mother shouted as she ran down the stairs, her red hair falling out of its bun and her cardigan slipping off her shoulder. She walked over to me and cupped my face with her cold hands on. I could feel her wedding ring still on her finger. I smiled up at her and looked into her eyes, green and wet; she had been crying while upstairs. "Our new home," her breath smelled of peppermint and her it was warm on my face, thawing it of wind burn and cold water. "I promise, good things will come from this move. Gran and Pa are only a few streets over, Alex and Graham are, what… two hours away? We're near a beach, it's a decent school—if your father graduated there, it _must_ be good." She attempted a kind laugh and pressed her chapped lips against my check, "welcome home." Her voice trailed and she looked out the bay window and started walking towards it, "look at this view! It's beautiful! I've got to get out my paints."

She continued to talk, but I tuned her out and walked into the living room and leaned against the fabric couch that itched my skin. I tried to block out the thoughts of my father, but it was as if a movie played through my mind. We were at the park and dad was pushing me on the swing, "_don't go higher, don't go higher!_" I shouted at him, and he screamed back "_why?_" I would laugh and say it was because I was scared. He stopped pushing and let me come to a stop before he swung me around and looked me directly in the eye. "_You have nothing to fear, _ever, _Mati. Nothing can ever hurt you as long as I'm here, and once I'm gone, you'll be strong enough to take on the world. I _promise_."_ He hugged me and I forced him to pinky promise me. I blinked away tears forming and questioned who would take away my fears now? Who would check under my bed for monsters and hold me during scary movies? Who would I worry for and what reason do I have to fear a fellow officer coming to the doorstep and telling me they're no longer around—died in action? I wasn't strong enough now. I shook my head.

"Well, you should be happy now," my brothers' baritone voice said coming closer to me. He hip butted me and I lost my footing, sliding to the left just a bit. "You have a whole _new_ field of boys to mess around with, now," he was teasing me.

"Shut _up_!" I scoffed and brought my hand up and punched him on the shoulder.

"Damn," Dominic placed his hand over his wound, "have you been practicing?" He smiled, flaunting his perfect teeth, his black eyes squinting from his cheekbones rising. For a moment, I thought I was looking at Nico. I smiled back.

"Of course," I nodded and got in fighting stance, to which Domo responded by holding out his hands. I punched, left, right, left, right, right. I jumped around a little and threw my fists up in the air like Rocky. We laughed in harmony, he called me a dork. "What_ever_," I responded. "I've been practicing with dad's old bag… well, was. I don't know where I'm going to hang it now." I looked around, mom and Julie were sitting on the nook, chatting. I faced Domo and looked into his eyes; my lips were pushed over to one side and I could tell he knew what I was thinking. The Harts could always tell what we were thinking, no matter how much we thought we couldn't—it was a gift.

Dominic threw his over-muscled arm up, "I miss him too," he wrapped his arms around me and pushed me into his chest. I breathed in the smell of his cologne—it was like bark and flowers—I scrunched up my nose, did he really_ like_ that crap? A flash of light blinded me for a moment and Domo and I broke apart, looking in the direction of the flash.

Mom was holding her phone up, "aw, now look how cute that is. I'm framing it, I'm framing it…" she smiled to herself and showed the picture to Juliette. I felt a chill roll down my spine.

"Jesus Christ, mom," I rolled my eyes, "you're ridiculous."

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xx

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I've been in my bed for three hours, I think, and I haven't gotten a wink of sleep. The rain had gotten harder and slammed against the roof like waves in the ocean and there was a constant howling coming from the woods. Mother never said anything about wolves living in the woods. It was a bit peculiar, the forest seemed too small to have wolves living in them, and my sense of security flew out the window—I made a mental note not to enter the woods, not like I was planning to, anyway. The bed I was laying in was old and stiff, and every time I moved it creaked like I was obese, the blankets that were on top of me were no help against the cold wind that blew in through a crack in the window, and I was helpless. The snoring of my brother down the stairs found its way up into my room and the purring from my sisters room wasn't something I was keen on listening to, since I couldn't tell if it was her having sex with herself or her way of snoring.

I sighed and gave up on my mom's theory of laying in silence will put myself to sleep. Throwing the blanket off my body I slipped on some slippers and scooted my way down the stairs into the kitchen. Going past my brother sleeping on the couch, I contemplated pushing him off and throwing him onto the floor to end the snoring that was killing me. I decided against it.

Shuffling into the kitchen, I craved chocolate milk to release the anxiety that formed into my stomach. Dad used to give me chocolate milk when I was scared or nervous, and mom would take it away when I did something bad—one could say I had a problem with it. I opened the fridge and shuffled around to find something to satisfy my craving—cottage cheese, milk, apple juice, meats. "Wow," I whispered to myself, I sighed and slammed the door shut. I sat down in the little pillowed edge under the bay window and leaned my head against the cool glass. I took a deep breath and watched water trail down the glass and drop off the edge. It occupied my mind for quite some time before my emotions got in the way. I was an unpredictable mess and this time I caught myself off guard. Water rushed out of my eyes and my nose began to run leaky boogers out of it, my cheeks got steamy and my throat was swollen. I cursed under my breath and pulled my knees under my chin. I missed him, I missed them both. The void in my family was getting bigger and bigger each day, I couldn't imagine what each of our hearts were like. I was indecisive, were they empty, or full of fear. Mine was full of fear. There was no bigger pain and no stronger feel than the loss of a loved one—no matter how small or how large the love was.

I had to get my mind off the subject of Nickolas and dad, and the only way I knew how to do that was to think about something to get my anxiety up. School. I'd have to attend school in a week, and I was dreading it. It was my senior year and I was two credits down to graduate and I was praying they had some sort of online school to take, and maybe a volleyball team. I was in no need to even think of making friends—I never made friends, I had a friend repellant on my side at all times. Friends were pointless, and with the way I lived, they didn't stay around for long. And it wasn't like I was a talkative person to begin with, no matter how much I talked and how different I behaved around my family—it was my family—I was a completely different person around other people. Some would say defensive and harsh. I would say strong and grounded.

I don't know how long I was sitting next to the window, but eventually I got tired and shuffled myself back up the stairs. I didn't dream last night, instead I was in a listening type of dream, where all that clouded my brain was the howling of wolves, the pitter patter of rain, and a beast snoring.

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**Note:** Reviews are helpful-they encourage me-and critics please, review, I need some tips and people to tell me it's bad-I live on it.


	3. Chapter two

**Settle** - _Chapter 2_

Unfamiliar voices and objects being moved greeted me when I woke up the next morning. I laid still in the old, stinky bed for longer than needed until I decided everyone would need my help with something—and I was hungry, I hoped mom went shopping for food. Opening my eyes, sunlight leaked through my windows and the rays blinded my eyes, I quickly threw my arm over my eyes and scrunched up my face. Turning over to my side, I groaned and blinked a few times to get my eyes adjusted to the light. I laid there some more against better judgment, and ended up feeling more tired than when I first woke up. I mumbled a few curse words under my breath and rolled myself out of the old bed. Sliding on the slippers that laid in perfect position I stood up and stretched my back, hearing a few pops from my spine, I was satisfied. I knew walking down stairs only in my pajamas would upset my mother, so I shuffled my feet to my suitcase and pulled out a dark red sweater that was a size too big and managed to squeeze into a pair of black jeans. I was never the skinniest of girls, in fact, I was proud to say I was chubby and normal sized—it was one of my good qualities. I pulled my arms over my head once more and stretched my back to be able to actually pick up my feet.

I pulled my hair up into a low, messy bun as I slowly walked down the stairs, earning a few creaks from the wood. The voices got louder and there was laughter mixed with boxes being shuffled into the house; the moving truck must have arrived. Going past the living room where my mom was talking to a group of people, they all seemed to ignore my presents so I went to see if there was any breakfast made. I shouldn't have been surprised when there was none on the stove or in the fridge, mom never made breakfast. Dominic strolled past me from the dining room with an overgrown man behind him, "coffee for breakfast," he shrugged and continued to walk past me—the man behind him.

"Breakfast fit for kings," I shook my head and poured lukewarm coffee into a mug left on the counter. There was no creamer, so I'd have to have it black, just the way I hated it. I stood in the kitchen alone for a little, leaning my bum against the counter, I sipped my cup of Joe. The chatter in the living room had gone to a dark conversation, I could tell by the sudden silences and the laughter decreasing ever so slowly. I thought maybe that would be my introduction. I pushed myself off the counter and quietly walked over the archway that separated the kitchen to the living room, next to the stairs. They were whispering and I couldn't hear a word they said, I was hoping clearing my throat would make me known but none of the four heads turned to me. "_Ahem,_" I cleared my throat with my mouth open, and finally my mother 'oh'd.'

"Oh, Mati, dear," mom smiled and waved her hand to beckon me—I declined. "This is Sam, he was a friend of Ben," I could tell from here that she was frazzled and upset, she gestured to an older man—for sure twenty years older than the other two sitting down next to him—and he stood up. He towered over my 5'6 frame and I had to crane my neck up to look at his face, he smiled and held his hand out. He was overbuilt, his muscles protruding far more than any normal person who worked out and his eyes were different—they were a dark brown with gold twinkling around the iris. It made me take a double look. "Sam Uley," he waited for me to shake his hand—I left it handing.

"Matilde…" I looked him up and down one more time and put my tongue in front of my teeth, "you were friends of my dad?" It was odd seeing someone like him and imagining him high school friends with my dad—I didn't see similarities. But, in some way it was comforting, like I was closer to my dad.

"Yeah, high school buddies, he was my best friend for a long time," Sam nodded at me and then to my mother.

I raised my eyebrow and took a slurp from my coffee mug, earning a well deserved eye wtich from my mother. "What happened?"

He paused, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't. "We grew up, he left." He lied. I was great at telling if someone was lying, a hidden gift, I wasn't going to tell him that, though.

"Why are you here?"

"Matilde, stop interrogating out guests," mother yelled at me. "Sam and his… friends… came here to help us settle in some boxes and invite us to a funeral going on next weekend."

"A funeral? How ironic. Haven't we been to enough, mom? We don't even know anyone here, it's not like our presence will do anything." I tilted my chin up and my head to the side, my mouth slightly open and I "oooh'd."

"Matilde Hart, you will stop your attitude, _immediately!_ We were invited and are going for support, the young boy who died was very well respected and you know better than to be like this. You are going to go outside and help your siblings!" She pointed at the front door and I raised my eyebrows and put my mug on the counter. Walking out the door I heard her apologize for my behavior. She always insisted on doing that—apologizing for my actions, my personality, my everything; like I was a black sheep that needed to be sorry for. I stopped on the door step and closed my eyes, I shouldn't think like that. Mom did everything she could for me, and more—she tried her best all the time and I was always defiant. Now that dad was gone, I couldn't be this way anymore. I stood there longer than needed, and once I realized what I was doing, I opened my eyes and bit my bottom lip. Walking over to the smallest moving truck in the world, I heard Dominic crack a sexist joke and my sister yell at him—two other voices were inside, unfamiliar and baritone, one laughed out loud and the other let out a humorous sigh. Grunts and some more talking, I peeped my head around the corner of the truck.

"Need any help?" My voice was rough from downing the disgusting coffee, "mom doesn't seem to want me in the house right now." Without an answer, I walked up the ramp into the almost empty truck and examined the contents left inside of the bed. Dad's old TV, his sand bag, and some boxes with either 'DAD' 'MOM' or 'OTHER' were written on them.

"What did you do?" Julie stopped rummaging through a 'DAD' box and turned to look at me.

I pursed my lips, "everything's my fault, right?" It was an unfair comment, and I knew the moment it came out of my mouth that I hurt her feelings. I would have apologized, but there was company. I watched them move around boxes and help my brother pick up things. They were exactly the same as the guys in my room, tall, tan, overwhelmingly fit—something was off. I scrunched up my nose and stared, they had the same tattoos as well. "Are you guys, like, in some fandom no one on the outside knows about? Some teen star you want to all look like?" It was meant to be a joke, but it didn't come out like it.

"I wish," the older one mumbled, while the younger, more boyish one covered his answer, "we're not exposed to much cultural differences here in such a small town," his voice sounded like a teen who hit puberty too quickly.

I furrowed my eyebrows and poked my lips out, I wasn't stupid. I could taste the lie in my mouth, a sickly salty flavor, and the fib created a whole tension of humidity that made me start to sweat. I opened my mouth to say something, but decided against it—I had done enough talking for the day. Grabbing an 'OTHER' box, I knew it was mine, and it was heavy. I mumbled a small curse under my breath and lifted with my legs; I obviously was not going to get help from anyone else. Making sure I stepped in the right places, I walked off the truck with an audience behind me. I stopped mid-way to the house and looked up to the sky—it was going to rain again, I could smell it.

Moving back into the house, mom and Sam's murmured talks continued in the living room and I rolled my eyes. What could they even be talking about? They didn't even _know_ each other. I started to walk up the stairs when the older brute stopped me, with his hand on my shoulder tingles ran down my spine. I stopped, one foot on the stairs, and turned around. Black, buzz cut hair. Nothing special there, once more. I waited.

He seemed reluctant to speak to me, and after an extra beat of silence he asked where the 'OTHER' boxes went. I was caught off guard by his voice, it wasn't an overpowering masculine voice like Sam's, and it wasn't a pubescent teen boy like the other one. It was a smoky voice that would make any girl quiver between the legs. I found myself smiling, "it's my stuff." I nodded in the direction up the stairs and stomped my way to my room. He was quiet and I was quiet and I liked that. We entered what was the guest room for my grandparents, but now would be my room, "you can just set it there," I pointed to the corner of the wall. I waited by the door for him to set the box down and leave the room, but he stayed. He looked around the room and pointed to the poster on my bed, "_the Smiths_? How do you even know who they are, you're like, what, twelve?"

I scoffed and scrunched my face up, "I don't look _twelve_. We both know that." I wanted to gesture to my chest, but that would have been inappropriate and I wouldn't want my siblings or mom to see. "They were my dad's favorite band," I tilted my chin up and stared at him, my eyes sending lasers into his head. "Not that that's any of your business."

He looked over at me, "you're right, it's not. But, you're still willing to share," he tilted the left side of his mouth up and grinned. I narrowed my eyes and took a step forward.

"You sound like a pretentious dick."

"Thanks," he brought his thumb up to his lip and wiped whatever was on it away, his eyes scanned my soon-to-be room. He might have said something under his breath, but I didn't catch it. His face structure was sharp and angular; the wrinkles on his forehead when he found something curious indicated that he was under stress. I would never deny that he wasn't hot, but he looked like all the Quilette men that I've seen so far—or at least I thought so. He eyed me, his eyes roaming my body starting at my feet all the way to my own eyes. At first, it was unappealing and made me want to punch him in the face—what I would normally do in normal situations—but this wasn't a normal situation. Our eyes had connected and I noticed now how different he was. His eyes weren't like Sam's, or the others, or like my dad's, brothers. They were special. A caramel brown and golden specks floating all around, with hints of dark brown around the iris; they were widened, as if caught off guard or surprised. I felt something inside of me break, like a dam, I felt like the whole ground underneath me shifted and for a moment, my sight went blurry.

It went away quickly after I blinked a couple of times. I wanted to ask if he needed help out the door, but somehow my voice had gone a bit dry and didn't want to risk cracking it. An awkward silence hung in the air after a while, and all he did was stare at me with a small tilt of the corner or his lip—one I could tell he didn't do often—and all I did was stare back, how could I not? I darted my eyes around, looking for something to focus on, but found nothing. "Do you need help with something?" I finally addressed.

He looked taken aback when I spoke, as if being pulled out of a trance he loved to be in. "N-no. No. I should go, I have work," He looked at the floor and shook his head, maneuvering his way around me he stopped at the doorway and looked at me one more time before rushing down the stairs. I pursed my lips and furrowed my brows—a habit I had seemed to pick up since moving here—and followed down the stairs. Upon entering the room, all eyes watched me leave the house, and once I entered back in they followed me again. It happened for the longest time, until we were all finished unloading the truck. Dominic and Julie decided to drive it to some city to return it, I offered to tag a long but mother said no.

I was in the kitchen drinking another cup of black coffee; my face stuck all bundled up from the strong taste, when Sam and his people had decided it was time for them to leave. "It was a pleasure to talk to you, Ana. I can see why Ben fell in love with you." He paused, and then started again, "I hope to see you in a couple of days at the ceremony." I heard him walk towards me and I pulled my sight away from the window and looked at him. He stuck out his hand again, "pleasure meeting you, Matilde, I am sure I will be seeing you in the future. I'm truly sorry about your loss," his head tilted downwards ever so slightly and waited for me to shake his hand.

I could tell he wasn't going to leave unless I shook his hand after a lingering silence and him just standing there, I obliged, nodding my head once I threw my hand into his. "Ditto," his hand was warm. Very _warm_, like a furnace that never went out or an electrical warming blanket, I could have crawled into him and let him thaw all the bad and all the cold out of me. He left and it was only my mom and I in the house. She paced around in the kitchen a little while and then came over and sat in the dining room with me.

She watched me watch the world move outside and eventually wrapped her small hands around mine. "Mati," her voice was distressed, stained and tired of crying, of feeling pain; I pitied her. "You have to promise me… promise me you will not go into the woods, a boy got killed in there. Mauled by bears, Mati, he was _only fifteen_. Promise me," she held out her pinky.

That was sad, and an awful way of dying, I thought. Fifteen was a young age, too. He had a lot to live up to… but fifty was a young age to die as well, and so was twenty-two. There was so much they could see, _so much _to live for. I could feel the prickle of tears in the corner of my eyes and I blinked them away. Holding up my pinky I wrapped it around hers and kept it there, "it's not like I was planning on going in there, anyway," my voice was breathy and I had to clear my throat.

Mom made a small smile, but it faltered quickly. "Will you be okay to go to the funeral for the boy?"

I looked at my half-way emptied mug and shrugged. "Why wouldn't I be?" I lied and forced a smile. I took my pinky away from hers and watched nod and leave. I heard her shout something, but I had tuned out, again, and watched the wind push the trees of the forest to the left. It was calming.

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**Note:** Reviews are helpful-they encourage me-and critics please, review, I need some tips and people to tell me it's bad-I live on it.


	4. Lost chapter: two and one half

**All I've ever needed -**_ Lost chapter: two and one half_

Not sleeping became a sudden ritual, either it was too windy and the trees made scary noises or the wolves were mournfully howling, I couldn't sleep. Against better judgment, I got myself up out of bed and walked down the stairs into the kitchen. I forgot to put on pajama bottoms before I went to bed, and so I was walking about the house in my underwear and a loose shirt. Mother would be disappointed. I let out a breath of air and walked my way over to the fridge; mom finally went shopping and got me chocolate milk. I groaned with pleasure as I poured some into a cup and downed the liquid.

I stood next to the counter and let the pleasure of the chocolate dairy product set in my system. Closing my eyes I hummed a soft tune and started to sway my hips, left, right, left, right. "_Baby, you're all_…" I hummed some more, "_baby you're all I need._" I smiled and threw my arms above my head, crossing them; I moved my hips a little faster and put my feet into it. The tempo in my head went up, "_I love you more than I need… I could ever love someone," _my voice broke off and I stopped. My face fell and the memories blinded my vision before I even knew they were coming.

It was late, midnight, maybe, and everyone in the house was asleep. I was maybe six, seven? Ten, tops. I couldn't sleep because I had a big project at school coming up and I was scared of messing it up. I practiced all night and it occupied my mind so much I couldn't dream. I heard noises from the living room, there was a soft song playing and _clinks_ of glasses, and curiosity got the best of me. I followed the noises and found my sad sitting alone at the dining table listening to a soft song downing a glass of Jack. He looked like he just got off of work by the look on his face. His bushy eyebrows were furrowed, his hand never letting go of the alcohol, and his hair was spiking in all directions from his free hand running through it so many times. He was in his pajama's bottoms—his famous dice pants he supposedly got from Las Vegas. "_Daddy?_" I peeped asked after watching him stare at the table for some time. His head shot up and all the stress had left his face and was replaced with concern.

"_What's the matter, baby?"_ He stood up, his towering 6'' frame over my four foot or smaller one. He picked me up under my armpits and sat me on the chair closest to him. He pushed his alcohol away and smiled down at me. I didn't respond because there was a lot that was "the matter," school, my twin brothers decided to go to war together in just a year, Alex moved out of the state and I wouldn't see her ever again. Even at a young age I had too much on my mind. Dad sighed and his alcohol breath swam towards my face—it was strong and dirty. The radio on the book shelf behind us clicked and the song changed and something in dad's eyes altered. The pupils tilted up and they widened, he smiled, sending his cheek bones up. "_This is my favorite song, baby girl_." He stood up and held his hand out to me, "_care to dance_?" I giggled and nodded my head, taking is hand he lifted me up above his feet and started to move in the shape of a box. A few beats later he started to sing, his baritone voice whispering softly was beautiful, and I couldn't help but watch him sing. "_Every promise I made, has lead us up to this day…. please, remember my love, when you've forgotten your way_," it was at this part I hummed the slow tune that picked up just a few notches. _"Baby, you're all… baby, you're all… baby, you're all I've ever needed…"_ We stayed like that for the rest of the song, and then he carried me off to bed and stayed with me until I fell asleep.

I felt myself slip down onto the floor, my hand covering my mouth to hold in the sobs that would escape my chest from holding in my breath. I moaned in agony, the tears in my eyes fell down rapidly, no longer a stream down my face but droplets onto my legs. I let out a choke of air and made a whispering scream into my knees. I held myself tightly, and didn't let go. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by another, tighter and tighter, and my chest felt like an elephant was sitting on it. I started to choke on my breath and I slid my side onto the cold, wooden floor so it was like I was sleeping on my bed. I let the water forming in my eyes cloud my vision until I couldn't see anything, and eventually, I cried myself to sleep on the floor.

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"Damn, Paul. You couldn't even let the girl be in this town one day before fucking it all up for her, could you? You just take your claws out," the woman sitting next to him brought out her hand and curled her fingers into claws, "and grab," she closed her hand into a fist and laughed. Her head fell backwards and her feminine laughter mingled with masculine laughs in the air.

"_Hu, hu, hu_, that's funny." Paul growled as he shoved Emily's garlic bread into his mouth, the butter overpowered the garlic and soaked the bread—it was delicious.

"Oh, Kim, please! Stop tormenting Paul, its lovely he's found _The One_. Now he won't waste money on dates," Emily walked over and slapped Kim on the back of the head with her cooking mitten. Emily clicked her heels and walked over to Paul to scruff his hair and sit on his lap, "don't you feel better, Paul?" The left side of her face stayed motionless while the right giggled and smiled up at him. Her light brown eyes glowed with green freckles by the iris that were always happy, Sam was lucky and had a right to be thrilled when Emily was around.

"No?" Paul questioned and lifted the petite older woman off his lap. Paul didn't want to imprint in his life, he was happy the way he was running his life now. He could leave when he wanted without telling anyone, he didn't have to worry about anyone if he passed away, and he didn't have to constantly worry about losing someone he loved. Because loving people was not in Paul's vocabulary. Paul was more of an emotionless fling type of guy when it came to women, and everybody knew that.

"Oh, _come on_, Paul. You _know _you want her, God, is she pretty? What does she look like, tell me, Paul, _tell me_." Kim whined and drawled on the 'e' in "me."

"Jesus Christ," Paul rolled his eyes and put his head in his hands. He thought about the girl whom he imprinted on and the more he thought about it the more he liked it. Her brown hair, worn and up, her lips small and perfect, they looked soft and like a cloud, minus a few chapped part that could have been fixed with chap stick. The way her eyes gave her every emotion, her beautiful eyes, brown with little blue on the edge. She was beautiful and didn't deserve Paul. Paul brought himself out of his mind and sharpened his eyes at the laughing Kim almost falling out of her seat, "find her yourself and see what she looks like." Paul growled unknowingly and received a punch from his Pack brother, Jared. "She's not even near my age, she's like a baby," He looked around and Quil was nowhere to be found, he thanked the heavens. He didn't want to get in a fight today.

"Oh, I will. Stop being a _pussy_, Paul! Tell us how you really feel," Kim placed her feet on the floor and leaned in closer to the brute.

"Damn, Kim, fuck off." Paul stood up and let Jared, Kim, and Emily continue to laugh their asses off. He went over to Emily and placed his dirty plate in the sink. The screen door slammed shut and the newest one walked in, shaking and angry. Paul put Emily behind him, "you can't be in here in that condition," he heard Jared say as he pushed Kim out the room.

"He's dead. My best friend is dead for less than twenty-four hour! Our pack brother is _dead_ and you all are laughing like _nothing_ happened!" Colin looked at Paul and Jared, his head snapping back and forth, his nostrils flared as he breathed heavily and his hands started to rapidly shake. His red-brown fur was poking out of his skin and Paul took action. Pushing Emily as far back as he could he jumped over the counter and wrapped his arms around the sad boy, pushing the broken door open he threw Colin out just in time for him to have phased. Paul thought about the thing that angered him most and jumped off the step, midair his clothes shredded and he phased. He snarled his teeth and growled, threating Colin and telling him to leave—it was an _order_. The wolfboy stayed put for longer than needed and decided with good judgment to leave back into the forest. Paul decided Sam out deal with him later.

Looking back inside the house, Paul watched Jared give him a nod and the angered man did the same before running off into the woods and to his little house to get a well-deserved nap.

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_**Note:** Reviews are helpful-they encourage me-and critics please, review, I need some tips and people to tell me it's bad-I live on it._


	5. Chapter three

**Nothing left to say / Rocks **- _Chapter three_

Mom and I have been living in our new home for a total of five days, now, and this would be the first time I left the house in those days. It was the day of the funeral and I reluctantly pulled on formal clothes appropriate for this type of event. Mom looked like she was a rescue ship, not with the way she dressed, but with the aura around her like she was going to save some lives today. It was stupid for her to think that she could fix some people just because she had experience with things. I chose not to look at her the whole ride to the place wherever the ceremony was being held, but rather slept. And when I woke up it was raining, again, for the third time today. The woods smell was stronger than ever and the grass turned into mud. It was only sprinkling, but everyone had umbrellas out, some were black to match their attire while others were clear—but none were rainbow. We missed the wake, but made it just in time for the burial of Brady Jennings. Their burial grounds was not what I expected; fake grass that turned into mud, headstones that were shaped like angles and squares, flowers scattered all over the place from the wind blowing them away—it was a normal burial ground. Everyone was dressed in black with white tissues glued under their eyes, nobody was stupid enough to wear heels like me, so I was forced to stay on the cement to prevent sinking into the ground—I was the farthest person away from the ceremony, but that didn't bother me, I'd rather be far away from the anguish people were shedding off their bodies. It looked like Brady was a fairly popular guy; a dozen or so teens showed up around him and cried for him like it would bring him back. I spotted Sam, surrounded by some guys who showed up to help us move boxes and furniture into my house, their heads were bowed down and some held their hands in together as if praying for him, while some cried and looked for ways to escape. I watched Sam; he was watching the movements of a small boy surrounded by a mom and dad—a brother, maybe? So I focused my eyes on him, he was trembling—shaking, really-and his head was buried into the woman next to him, I could tell a part of him died with his brother. The two older couple next to him held hands and let their heads bow down. It was surreal. Being at a funeral of a kid I didn't even know yet knowing exactly what each person was feeling—I was in the boys place not too long ago, but I refused to let myself cry at dads funeral like I did at Nickolas'. I looked around for my mom and she went to introduce herself to the family that was breaking down, probably to console them, tell them her story of burying her own son and husband. I scoffed and looked towards the sky away from the mess forming in front of me. The rain was coming down a little harder now, and I didn't bring an umbrella or hood—just a black knee length dress and a black coat just a bit longer than my dress. Rain didn't bother me, it was the wind that blew it, but I stayed neutral and pulled my hood up to prevent my hair from becoming a wet towel. The chief of the reservation arrived and everyone seemed to just dissolve and get worse, I heard a scream of sorrow rip the throat of a female and someone rush off somewhere—I wasn't looking. I blinked a few times and turned my head to look back at the scene. Sam and the little boy were gone; the mother was almost in the mud from her body not being able to support herself anymore, mother and the man whom I guessed was the woman's husband or boyfriend held the woman up. My mouth dropped a little and I blinked away the sympathy tears that formed in my eyes.

I looked down at the grey cement road and thought of Nico's funeral—I was in the worst possible state of my life, along with Dominic. There was no body to have a wake for; they said he was torn to bits that it wouldn't even look like Nico. Fucking bomb had blown him away and shredded him like cheese. I cursed my family for pushing everyone to be a cop, or detective, or be in the military. I was a mess, my brain was no longer in function and all it was clouded by were tears and memories. I clung to Dominic like my life depended on it, and he clung back because he knew he would never see his twin again—no one would go to his meetings for him, no one would be able to fuck with mom about whose who, and no one would shoo away the clingy girls that wouldn't leave him alone after a one night stand. My eyes were slammed shut and I couldn't bare look at the empty casket they were lowering into the ground, or bare to look at the officer giving my father the folded American flag. The guns that shot into the air made me jump four times until I got used to it, I didn't care if it was a sunny day, a rainy day, Wednesday or Friday—all I cared about was beating myself up for a problem I couldn't fix. I smothered my face in Dominic's chest and I thought I was going to shove my head right through him, but he didn't care. A pain my chest overwhelmed me to the point where I passed out and woke up in the hospital. Julie was pissed off at me, called me an attention whore and yelled at me for taking Nico's last day and making it all about me when no one listened. Domo thanked me for doing something that made him leave—he couldn't stand being there any longer. I took it as everything being my fault and decided that my fainting was half of me dying. And when dad died the other half of me died, too, but I didn't need to faint for that to happen.

My hands were starting to twitch and I felt myself getting cold, and looking out at the funeral I could tell me being here was a waste of energy. I stood there fighting with my inner self, turning to walk away than turning back to the funeral—to support people I didn't know and relive so many memories, or leave and smoke a cigarette to blow out the emotions in my body. I finally decided and turned to walk down the crumbling road. My heels clicked as I walked down a road that I could see would eventually become a dirt path and I since I knew I could not go into the dirt road, I walked until the edge. I was far away from the depressing atmosphere and the screams and cries of pain; I leaned my head back and sighed. I reached into my bag that hung on my shoulder and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights and my lighter—it was a bad habit, and I knew it, but I didn't care. As soon as an old friend peer pressured me into smoking one after my brother passed away—which I was in a too vulnerable state to say no to-I was hooked. The way the nicotine made my chest feel like it was on fire and how I could release all my emotions with a blow of smoke made me feel empowered, like I beat death's burden it put on people's lives. Eventually, I got bored of just feeling smoke in my chest that I started smoking more to make myself sprint towards Death's grasp.

I held the cancer stick between my lips and brought the lighter up to my face, flicking the wheel down it clicked but the wind was blowing too hard for it to start a flame. Turning my back in the direction away from the wind, I held my hand up and flicked the wheel again. Finally, the flame stood straight up and ignited the start of my cigarette. I looked the flame and felt the muscles in my face relax, my body rolling off all the stress and emotions that I liked to think I rarely felt. I threw the lighter back in my bag and turned around towards the direction of the funeral. A body was walking towards me, but I could have cared less—I figured it was my mother sending someone out to get me so I could be near her. I sucked in the fumed from the smoke and held them into my chest until it burned, and then a little longer; I felt my lungs expand and resist against the unfamiliar gas. I finally blew out when I felt my head go light and I tilted my head back and watched the smoke mingle in the air and make shapes. I saw leaves falling from something, and soon my mind was tranced back to another funeral.

It was dads and I stood by his tombstone. The ceremonies and covering of his ground had ended and I was the only one left on the deserted land. Mom couldn't stand to be there anymore and she went home in a taxi, Domo and Julie were out in Iraq during that time and Alex couldn't catch a flight—Q didn't even know he died since no one could tell him since he ran away from our family when he was sixteen—automatically being disowned. I wasn't crying, I was already dead and dead people don't have tears when bad things are happening—only after the fact does water rush to their eyes. I just stood there and felt everything in me leave, like the wind could blow me away, but it really only blew my hair. Relatives left flowers outside his coffin, while I left my sunflowers inside with him, and the only thing I could think about is how they will rot with him and in some sick way it comforted me that there would be something there that would understand what he was going through, doing the same exact thing he was—but it wasn't like he was in his body anymore to feel it. His name was carved ever so elegantly with a long curvy _B_ and _H_ and a stupid "_loving husband, father, and defender of crimes,"_ I wanted to scream. If he was such a good "defender" he wouldn't have died and if I was such a good daughter I wouldn't have caused his death.

I pulled myself out of the memory and blinked my sight back. I felt my knees shaking and my mind warp itself around the memories floating through my body, but I tried my best to cover them up as the body—a man, I now noticed—came closer to me. My cigarette had burnt itself halfway out and I hurried to finish it, and on my last hit I held my breath and enjoyed the feeling of the burn. I threw the bud on the ground and squished it with my heel, "smoking kills," a smoky voice fell in whisper with the wind.

I snorted and automatically opened my mouth to ignite a fire, "thanks doctor Oz. I don't watch commercials or read the pack or listen to every fucking asshole on the planet who thinks that me knowing that little fact will stop me." Pain leaving my chest, anger filled it spot. Standing beside me was now the man and instantly I knew who he was—the guy who helped me move in, the one who questioned my music taste and offended me with my age. I pointed my finger at him and squished up my face as if trying to recall his name but couldn't. It seemed he didn't understand what the hell I was doing with my body, so I had to spell it out, "you helped my family move in…"

He nodded and looked around the forest, "yeah." We stood in silence for a beat, and it looked like he was battling something in his head. One side must have one, because he cleared his throat, "Paul… my name… is Paul." He furrowed his eyebrows and kicked himself internally; something weird was going on with him.

I forced a toothy smile, "Mati." I nodded my head and looked around, awkward hung heavy in the air. It seemed like neither of us were able to keep a conversation nor in the mood. He was peculiar, looking at him from the corner of my eye. His shoulders hunched forward—a position that I could tell was not normal for him—and his hands were in his black tuxedo pants—a feeling unusual to him by the way his hands fiddled in his pockets—I pursed my lips and rolled my eyes, if he was just going to stand there, I better be the man and say something. "Did you know him?" I turned my face to fully look at him, my eyes wide and clear, he turned to look away from me, into the woods like something else was going on or he was thinking about something deeply. The way his eyebrows furrowed the slightest and wrinkled on his forehead grew stronger and the way he bit inside his lip, I knew I hit something hard—or said something that made him think hard.

"Yeah," he paused and thought of things, or maybe he was forcing the words out of him—I couldn't tell. "He was like a brother to me, he was like a brother to all of the guys there," he threw his head back in the direction of the burial grounds. "He didn't deserve what happened to him, it wasn't even his fault," he must have said something he shouldn't have because he snapped his head in my eyes and widened his pupils.

"Oh," I rose my eyebrows, choosing to ignore the shocked look on his face. "The feeling goes away," I lied, "you know, the one where you blame things on yourself or the people around you. You learn that it was just life—or Death, rather." My lie tasted rather metallic and the hypocrisy oozed from my forehead.

He let out a humorous sigh and the left side of his mouth twitched up, "you're a shit liar."

"Oh, yeah?" I tilted my head to the side and pursed my lips in displeasure, "what do you know about lies?"

"Too much," he whispered and let the wind carry off to another place, he looked to the ground. We stayed in a comforting silence for a while and let the rumbling thunder in the distance hold our conversation. I enjoyed the fact neither of us were asking questions. "Your eyes give away your emotions," he said suddenly, making me turn my head to him and furrowed my eyebrows. "That's how I knew you lied, your eyes are… different." He looked like he had more to say, but he stopped himself short.

"What am I feeling now?" I asked—because I didn't know.

He darted his tongue out and wet his lips—he had great lips, I noticed. "You're sad," he didn't look away this time; he stared right into my eyes and waited for reaction.

I took some time to think about it, maybe I should have shrugged it off, or maybe I should have just said yeah and left it at that, but I'm too damn conceited and proud, "we're at a funeral, how else should I feel. Aren't you sad?"

He shook his head and smirked, as if he realized something about me—or him. "Yeah," he didn't seem to want to talk about his feeling anymore, because he abruptly changed the conversation—or ended it. "It's over; you should get home with your mom… and quit smoking." He turned around and started walking back to the funeral. I stood there for a while longer to prove a point that nobody tells me what to do, and enjoyed the music the wind was playing. I let my eyes wander around and peer into the forest—maybe it was magical, like a Sanctuary for fairies. God, that was stupid of me to think, and after a little chuckle at myself I walked back to the funeral. Mom was waiting for me by the grass and scolded me for walking away—she grounded me.

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_**Note:** Reviews are helpful-they encourage me-and critics please, review, I need some tips and people to tell me it's bad-I live on it._


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